Musings on Mesothelioma

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“Umm, I’m having a bad trip. I ate part of a pot cookie.” Dear God the humiliation. The nurse lowered her head and squinted at me over her glasses. “And I have cancer!” I blurted out.

“Please take a seat over there,” she said pointing.

I sat down in the waiting room, which on a Friday night was hopping like a club. My dad, who had accompanied me, took a seat next to me. If I remember correctly I think he was reading The New Yorker, which he’d brought with him from home.

Feeling paranoid from the weed, I decided I needed to “lay low,” so I slithered down in my chair, the lowest I could go. My dad peered down at me out of the corner of his eyes; no doubt he was counting the minutes until my partner arrived to take over babysitting. I tried sneaking a peak at the others sitting around me; they looked like a pretty rough crowd.

“Dear God, Goddess and Universe: I’m having a bad trip and I’m surrounded by sketchiness. Can you please help? Thank you.”

My partner arrived, greeting my dad as if nothing the least bit strange was transpiring. My dad wished me luck – like I was about to write an exam – then left. Soon after I was sitting with my partner at a nurse’s desk as she took my vitals. I explained that I had been eating the cookie, (baked by a well-meaning friend), in an effort to soothe my anxiety enough so that I could eat a proper dinner. Since my recent cancer diagnosis I was having great difficulty eating and had already lost seven pounds.

“I had one bite and it tasted awful, like poison. But nothing happened so I took another bite.” The nurse looked at me, as if to say, “don’t you know anything?”

“Then I was in the bathroom for a long time, re-arranging things and looking at my pores.” I’m pretty sure the nurse was silently judging me at this point.

I continued, “and I felt good, but then I started freaking out…” I trailed off.

As if by magic, I was suddenly presented with a cardboard bowl and I barfed up some banana. I tried throwing up daintily – I mean despite this horror I was still a lady.

The decision was made that I would “ride out my bad trip,” on a stretcher in the waiting room, positioned a bit off to the side. I lay down feeling at once very safe and very exposed. I babbled to my partner, clutching him at times as if I were in grave danger.

“Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?” I asked him. The waiting room had suddenly become an episode of Law & Order, with two belligerent women handcuffed to their respective stretchers; police officers standing nearby. I wondered if the women were high on drugs too. “My God,” I lamented to myself, “look at the depths to which I’ve sunk. I’m on drugs and hanging out with criminals.”

Several hours later, no longer tripping and back at home cuddled up with my dog Leroy, I reflected on one of life’s most important rules:

When eating edibles, especially homemade edibles, refrain from acting like The Cookie Monster.

Take one bite and wait. Check your pores, re-arrange stuff, do whatever you want, but do NOT take a second bite right away.

Back in April I wrote a post about having so many flowers in my hospital room that it started to look like a funeral parlor. If you have a loved one battling a serious illness, consider buying one of these non-flower gifts to lift their spirits and brighten up their hospital room:

One of Emily Mcdowell’s amazing Empathy Cards:

Add some razzle-dazzle with this fabulous gold planter from the Oh Joy! CollectionforTarget. Btw, I own this ladyface planter and she makes me so happy! If you really want to give flowers, place a colorful orchid inside, or fill it with hospital necessities: lip balm, facial wipes, sleep mask, earplugs and candy (if they’re able/allowed to eat it).

If the patient is in the hospital any longer than a week, a colorful lightweight blanket is perfect. When I was in the hospital I had a bright red blanket, it was cozy and it helped to make my room feel less institutional/jail-like:

Indigo sells this blanket in several colors:

A sleep mask makes a great gift for both men and women. Trying to sleep in the hospital – with the God awful hospital lights blaring at all hours – is frustrating as hell! Here is my partner sporting a handmade mask that I bought in downtown Los Angeles (LOL!):

More conventional, but no less colorful sleep masks, are available at many drugstores, Bed Bath & Beyond, large bookstores, Amazon, Sephora...💤💤💤

Finally, a framed photo of your beloved pet is a wonderful idea for a hospital room. When I was trapped in the hospital for two months, my old dog walker brought be a framed photo of my precious dog Leroy. Seeing his face each day kept me going; I knew I had to focus on getting better so that I could see him again.❤️🐾❤️

After my surgery and heated chemotherapy (HIPEC), I spent two months in the hospital. At one point my room looked like a funeral parlor, there were about twenty floral arrangements. Now I love flowers and I love receiving them and I was/am hugely grateful for the kind gestures of my friends and family. But we need to mix it up a little, too many flowers can make a patient feel like a priest is about to walk through the door to administer their last rites. So what to buy your loved one instead? I recommend “Dammit Dolls.” They are bright, joyful, nutty little creatures that you can bang against your hospital bed when you get frustrated waiting for your morphine. There are many to choose from, one is even especially designed for cancer patients, with half the proceeds going towards fighting childhood cancer:

I can now officially say that I have a sparkly brain! On Wednesday I had my brain aneurysm “coiled” with platinum, so I’m feeling pretty swanky! The surgery went smoothly for which I am very grateful. I only had to spend one night at the hospital and I had the loveliest nurses. But, my God almighty, I have never experienced headaches like that! I spent the night riding waves of intense nausea mixed with the most brutal headaches. They gave me morphine which helped the pain – a bit – but made the nausea worse. And as with all my recent medical experiences, there was an absurd quality to it: the patient next to me had an odd, bedazzled female visitor who was blasting Celine Dion while performing a weird interpretive dance – in an ICU style recovery room – r u kidding me?!

The doctors wrote me a prescription for Percocet to help with my headaches, which are supposed to last for a few days. For some reason I felt deep shame picking up the drugs – I felt like a low-life! I was paranoid that I would become addicted and that I would end up like Nurse Jackie, doing anything to secure my next high. Once home though, the drugs were a godsend and I spent most of the day in a loopy sleep dreaming of Iron Maiden – who were dressed like Wizards! – flying through the sky.

Editor’s Note: A special thanks goes out to my cancer! Had I not been in the hospital being treated for Mesothelioma – where I ended up with “Neuroleptic Malignant Syndrome” after a bad reaction to the drug Haldol – I never would have had my brain scanned and my aneurysm would have gone untreated. So thank you Mesothelioma!